


Top Shelf

by Nehszriah



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Prompt Fic, accidentally became super sweet, takes place mid-s9 for maximum tenderness, the tol v smol war, thought not really a war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29572896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: The Doctor is hiding something on the top shelf, and Clara is determined to not let her natural disadvantage prevent her from discovering what it is.
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	Top Shelf

**Author's Note:**

> There was a joke made about this in the Discord and I decided that the energy for it is too chaotic to not be absolute gold so I just whipped out a quick one-shot on the topic of the smol v tol wars
> 
> 1402 words; I’m one of the people who gets things down off high shelves for people at work (like I did the other day) or fellow customers in stores (whether I work there or not), and it’s… interesting thinking of this sort of thing

The Doctor knew he was taking a risk.

Taking the small object out of his pocket, he placed it high on a shelf in the console room, towards the back to keep it hidden. He knew that they were not yet done and the longer he had it on his person, the more dangerous it would become to keep with him. Clara—still on her adrenaline rush from their adventure—caught him just as he was taking his hand back, seeing the secretive move before it was complete.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Rule Number One: the Doctor always lies.

“That doesn’t look like nothing,” she said. Hands behind her back, she walked towards him with a sly grin. “What was that?”

“Nothing you should be concerned over,” he replied nonchalantly.

“I’m concerned about plenty when it comes to you,” she reminded him. “There’s a long list of things I willfully ignore and don’t let get to me, but that,” she motioned towards the shelf, “is not an item on said list.”

The Doctor gulped—ha, gotcha.

“I’m over two thousand years old, Clara; I’m allowed to have some secrets,” he argued, absolutely no bite to his words. He adjusted his outermost hooded sweatshirt in a move she could only describe as preening. “Don’t be silly; you’ll see it eventually.”

“…but why _eventually_ and not _now_?”

“You’ll see,” he replied.

“That’s rather rude of you.” She took a step closer, knowing he could smell her perfume. “I’m at least owed some form of an explanation.”

His face began to turn pink with blush, starting at his neck and ears and quickly consuming the rest of his visible skin. She could see the gears in his brain working overtime, several layers deep, and he finally gave up. “Now, I thought you wanted to get to the planet of bear-people, who survive off marmalade like in that book you were fussing about…” He turned her around and led her away from the shelves, as though he knew he was being as subtle as a brick wall and her letting him was merely a concession to wait until later.

Mmmhmm… yes, she was going to _definitely_ figure this out later.

* * *

The bear-people, as they turned out, were a lot more and a lot less like Clara had imagined. They were rather polite and loved marmalade and wore hats and coats and were able to get themselves into hilariously accidental mischief…

…their version of a “hard stare”, however, was attempting to eat the offender’s face off.

Clara and the Doctor ran at top speed into the TARDIS, the door immediately opening for and closing behind them, deafening the roar that followed a bit too closely for comfort. The door rattled and threatened to bang open, releasing all the fury of the bear-people from bear-London and their bear-rage. They made quick work of the controls and flung the ship out into the vortex—safe.

“That was… a disaster…” the Doctor realized.

“Understatement,” Clara agreed. She looked at his back and saw gash marks in his hoodie. “Are you alright?!”

“Huh…?” He reached around to his back and sighed. “Great—not another one.” Taking off his sweatshirts and a couple t-shirts, he found that the bear-people’s claws only just missed making him their prey, instead barely grazing his skin. “I’ll be back.”

“Then I’ll figure out what’s next on the agenda,” she replied. Clara watched as the Doctor gathered his now-ruined clothes and stomped into the corridor. She waited until he was just out of earshot before taking her chance.

The shelf!

Snatching a stepstool as she went, Clara went over to the shelf where she had caught the Doctor just earlier and zeroed in on her quarry. The object was there: all she had to do was take it.

…except, once she got there, the object was still out of her reach, though only just. She tried going on her toes and could barely graze whatever it was with her fingertips. Ugh! Even with her toes?! It just wasn’t fair…

“Clara…?”

 ** _Shit_**.

“I thought we settled this before our outing,” he frowned. Now with a new set of shirts and his hole-pocked jumper on—wow, that was fast—he stood next to Clara. The extra height she gained from the stepstool brought her up to his nose, and it was unnerving. “I’m not sure if I like you like this.”

“What? Curious?”

“No: _lifted_. You don’t seem right this way.”

“You want to know what else doesn’t seem right?”

He paused at that. “What…?” He gulped as she placed her hands on his shoulders and looked him directly in the eyes.

“This!”

In an instant, Clara used the Doctor’s shoulders as leverage to jump, grabbing onto his head with one arm so that she could reach in the back of the shelf with her other hand. He stumbled in surprise, fumbling to grab hold of her so that she would not fall, despite the fact she was wrapped around him and his face was firmly against her torso and chest. They both fell instead, toppling over onto the floor, but only after Clara was able to snatch onto her prize.

“Ah-ha! Got it!”

Sitting up and ignoring how banged-up she was going to be from the fall, Clara looked at what she’d grabbed from the shelf and wrinkled her nose in thought. It was a small velvet box, though she did not get the chance to examine it much closer, as the Doctor snatched it away in a flash, holding the box close to his chest.

“Not now!” he insisted. She tackled him again, instead switching her plan of attack to tickling his sides, making him giggle involuntarily in hopes it would bring down his guard. “Clara! Stop! This is silly!”

“…and I’m going to tickle you until you can’t breathe so _you_ stop being silly!” she declared. “What do you think you can hide from me?”

“A respiratory bypass system, for one!”

Shit… that was right. She could tickle him for an hour and he not need air. Okay then Clara Oswald; time for Plan C.

Granted, it had only been a shot in the dark, but Plan C seemed to work rather well. Clara stopped tickling the Doctor and instead pressed her lips into his, kissing him into a deep state of shock. His breath hitched—ah-ha—and his body relaxed underneath her, the tension leaving his muscles as he reached up to brush her hair back behind her ears. She used it as another opportunity to strike and took the box from him, opening the hinged lid with one hand.

There, sitting in her hand, was a jewelry box, and nestled inside was a ring. She stopped kissing the Doctor at the sight of it, sitting up on his waist instead and looking at it carefully. It was silver, with a gorgeous topaz glittering in the center. Clara looked from the glittering orange gem to the Doctor’s pale-blue eyes, her own beginning to well with tears—she knew what this was, and she had gone and ruined it.

Without a word, the Doctor gently removed the box from Clara’s grasp and freed the ring from it. He took the tiny metal hoop and held her left hand in his, sliding the ring over her finger, letting it glitter between her pinkie and middle fingers.

“You know we don’t need this,” she choked out, attempting to not cry.

“I know.”

He held her left hand in both of his and brought it towards his face, leaning up to kiss her knuckles. The ring on his own hand—gold and green-gemmed—was apparent as the model for what was now her own. She put her other hand on his and reciprocated the kiss, pressing her lips to his long fingers, their faces only inches apart.

“Thank you,” she murmured gently. He stared up at her, adoring and completely besotted.

“I should be the one thanking you, making it so I don’t have to go through the effort of finding someplace terribly romantic to set the scene and hide even more from you for longer than should be necessary… though do you promise to listen to me next time I put something on the top shelf? It might be to both of our benefits in the future.”

She nodded; she promised, at least for one go.


End file.
